The phone pressed cold against my ear.
"This is Michelle. May I take your order?"
I fiddled with the locket I'd found yesterday, its silver coolness a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in my apartment.
"Um.." I began, unsure how to explain, my thumb tracing the edges of the heart-shaped locket until it clicked open. "Actually, I'm not really calling to order anything..."
"Is this about a missing slice on your pizza yesterday?" she cut in, her tone surprisingly knowing.
A frown creased my forehead.
How'd she know about that missing slice? I hadn't called to complain..
"Hello? Still there?" Michelle's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Yeah," I replied. "What do you mean by missing slices?" I asked, playing dumb.
"We had a few complaints yesterday," she explained, a tone of annoyance wafting from the phone. "Customers who got their pizzas from Theodore, our new delivery guy...well, now ex-delivery guy. They all said they were missing two to three slices."
Oh..
His name is Theodore…
"Oh. How unfortunate… But no, that's not why I called. I..."
Trailing off, I thought: Michelle didn't sound like she was this guy's biggest fan. No need to mention the locket, or the fact that I kind of hoped to return it. Even if I did ask about his address, returning a random locket that probably didn't belong to him felt a little out of my comfort zone.
"You know what, forget it," I told her. "So sorry to bother you."
Hanging up the phone, I couldn't help but let out a little giggle, imagining the bewildered looks on customers' faces as they'd open their pizza boxes to find their orders like that, and the puzzled head-scratching that must've followed.
Gazing down at the paper in the locket, I studied the signature in fading black ink.
My eyes traced the elegant curves and loops that seemed to scream "maturity" and "sophistication". I wondered what the weird stain beneath the signature was, and my mind started to wander with all the possible stories behind it.
Just as I was getting lost in thought, Siri's robotic voice suddenly piped up from my phone, reminding me of my next task and snapping me back to reality.
I slipped the locket into my jacket pocket, deciding to hold onto it for the day as I shopped for groceries, and made a mental note to return it to where I'd found it, hoping its owner would eventually find it.
***
A FEW HOURS LATER.
When I saw Thomas standing in front of the apartment building with two other guys and a lady, giggling about something, my heart thumped in my chest.
It was a Sunday, and if he hadn't invited me out on Saturdays, he definitely did on Sundays.
My bag of excuses was practically empty, with nothing left but the tired 'I'm just not feeling it' or the classic 'I'm all good, thanks.'
I knew if I faced them, it'd be me against the three of them, and there was no way I'd wriggle out of joining their little adventure to who-knows-where.
As the cab rolled to a stop in front of the looming building, I crouched low in the backseat.
"We've arrived, Miss," the cab driver announced, and just as someone swung the door open from outside, I snapped it shut again and held on to the handle, my pulse racing.
"Drive us out of here!" I half-shouted.
"Thought you said Lexington Residences?"
"I changed my mind - just go!"
As the cab peeled away from the curb, a wave of relief washed over me.
I risked a quick peek over my shoulder and caught sight of Thomas and his buddies piling into another ride.
"Not too fast now," I cautioned the driver, sinking back into my seat as Thomas's car zipped by us.
A deep sigh of relief escaped me, my nerves finally starting to unwind.
"Miss?" The driver's voice edged with irritation. "Where to now?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologized. "Right here is fine, thanks."
I hopped out just a short stroll from where I was supposed to be.
Clutching my grocery bags close, I was about to make my way home when something across the street caught my eye and rooted me to the spot. It was a short dog, trotting along with a sense of purpose, and he looked just like Brutus.
The collar around his neck was unmistakable, and there it was—the knitted mitten he'd nabbed from me at the park, dangling from his mouth.
Out of nowhere, this wild urge just grabbed hold of me, this itch to tail the dog and maybe, just maybe, get a sneak peek at where this Theodore guy lived—if that's even where Brutus was scampering off to.
Or heck, maybe he was off to see his real owner.
I couldn't be sure, but the curiosity tugging at me was fierce. And there was a part of me that hoped if I caught up with Brutus, he'd hand over those mittens so I could dodge another one of my mom's lectures about losing the only thing she'd ever knitted with her own two hands.
And just like that, I found myself crossing the street after the little dog as he weaved past a couple of shops and turned the corner. My steps quickened as I followed suit, my groceries weighing me down.
Brutus trotted across the zebra crossing with other pedestrians and ducked into an alley.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered to myself, shifting the weight of my bags as I trailed him through the alley and arrived at the back of an old block of flats.
There was Brutus, making his way toward the fire escape.
I crept a little closer, watching in silence as the pint-sized pooch sized up the stairs, his tail a blur of excitement. He gave the first step of the drop-down ladder a good sniff and a tentative paw, like he was sizing up a challenge. Then, with a little hop, he was on it, his paws scrabbling for purchase on the metal that groaned under his small weight. He stopped for a beat, eyeing the next step, then went at it again, his claws ticking against the metal as he climbed, step by step, until he was three stories up. And that's when I spotted him.
Theodore.
There he was, perched on the window ledge, guitar cradled in his lap, giving Brutus a rough pat as the dog made it to his side.
Theodore plucked the mittens from Brutus's mouth and disappeared inside for a moment before returning with a small bowl which he set down beside him. Brutus dove in without hesitation.
Then Theodore's gaze dropped to me, his brow furrowing in a frown that seemed to pin me right where I stood.
"What do you want?" His voice wasn't welcoming as usual.
I juggled my groceries in one arm and fished out the locket from my jacket pocket with the other. Holding it up felt like holding out a white flag—way outside my comfort zone.
"Is this yours?" I called back up to him, trying to keep my voice steady as he squinted down at what I was holding.
I took a moment to get a better grip on my grocery bags, the locket now squeezed in my fist, and craned my neck to watch him making his way down the stairs, all casual-like.
He was decked out in sweatpants and a faded blue long-sleeve that clung to his not-too-bulky, not-too-skinny frame in a way that was just right for his height.
His hair bounced as he hopped from the third step of the drop down ladder and landed with a soft crunch in the snow, flip-flops and all.
He strolled up, that same old look of boredom plastered on his face. "Where is it?"
I opened up my clenched hand to reveal the necklace as it dangled from my fingers.
He grabbed it, popped it open, and just stared down at it for a moment like he'd fallen into some deep memory. Then he snapped it shut and stuffed it into his pocket.
He gave me this brief look, like he was trying to figure something out, but didn't say a word before turning back to where he'd come from.
I just stood there for what felt like ages, half-expecting him to toss back a 'thanks' over his shoulder—even one I couldn't hear would've been something.
Nothing.
He climbed back up to his perch and picked up his guitar again. He glanced down at me one more time before I finally broke away and walked off.
What was I even thinking coming here?